Manoj and company leaves in the Gypsy. We start in the Tata Sumo. We drive out of Aurangabad after taking a detour from the road to meet the Beed road. Manoj directs the Gypsy to stick to the road. Seeing the back of the Gypsy unleashes the knotted tongue of Shinde. He is driving and I have taken up the front passenger seat.
“Jagtap saheb Mumbaicheka?” He asks me immediately if I am from Mumbai. Though Mumbai is the capital of Maharashtra, people from other places in Maharashtra are not eager to trust Mumbaikars. So I play well.
“Me Jalgaoncha. Shikshan Mumbaila.” I am from Jalgaon. Educated in Mumbai.
“I thought so! You don’t look like a Mumbaiwala.” He smiles from ear to ear.
I know where this is headed. Next he will ask me about my native place in Jalgaon district. And surely he will know someone from there. So I change the direction of the conversation.
“So how did you find about Achhu & Sumit?”
“Tyat kai saheb? Once I had the photographs, it was just a matter of checking out the hotels & lodges in the city. We do that once a week anyway.” No big deal, he says. Aurangabad is an internationally renowned tourist place teeming with hotels of all sizes. Obviously, the local cops make it a point to check up on them frequently. I let him continue.
“The dead boy & the Gujju had travelled by bus to Aurangabad. They took up a room in Hotel Mohar near the bus stand. They used the boy’s voter id for booking. With the photograph & his name, it was easily found.” He elaborates.
“So when did the 3 guys meet up with these two?”
“They met them the next day. They took these two guys away in a taxi. The taxi services Mohar’s customers regularly. The driver remembered dropping the five of them at Ahmednagar at the end of it. But he also knew the two boys as he comes from a village nearby Ratnapur. Names are Mushtaq & Ijaz. Mushtaq is a good mechanic. That is how the driver knew him.” Shinde talks effortlessly as he drives on the open road. This one is better than the road from Nasik. He tells me that one of the boys is a local resident while the other is a cousin of his from a nearby village. Both stay with Mushtaq’s mother. The father died long ago.
“What about the third man? Who is he?” I ask.
“Maahit nahi saheb. I called a few people in Ratnapur. But nobody knows who the guy is. He came to Ratnapur 2 months back. He is staying in a house which is otherwise closed. Some people say he is a businessman with operations in the Gulf & is recruiting people. ” Shinde adds further. I hope he has not called too many people to let the cat the out of the bag. A village is a small place for inquiries to spread. I am praying that Manoj didn’t involve any more men in this. Shinde is more than capable of ruining the investigation on his own.
“So where are they now?” My most important question. I have been holding this back. This is always the tricky part. Catch them too fast & they can slip, leave it too late & they will escape. Timing is everything.
“Don’t know saheb. I told Manoj saheb that I can ask my people to have them arrested right away. But he would not agree. These two have a criminal record. Phatke dileki bhad bhad oktil sagli garal, pan sahebala kon sangnaar?” Shinde’s crude description of the nature of the two suspects & the suggested remedy of beating the truth out of them must have hardened my face somehow. As I control an urge to blast him with great effort, his eyes flash momentarily. He looks ahead at the road & keeps driving.
This behavior is unacceptable. But having experienced the stress that a common Maharashtra cop endures, I will readily give him a second chance. If you are battered with a 16 hours job every day, without any public holidays(law & order is under threat more than usual on public holidays.) & horrible work conditions coupled with even worse living facilities, a man’s sensitivity can be blunted. No wonder a cop working in such conditions would want to close every case by blaming a pattern & history. Making us cops sensitive by educating would take more than training sessions. It would require making our life better.
I don’t get something about the case yet. Why would a stranger from outside the village take two young boys to meet his probable business associates? Were they privy to his intentions when he killed Achhu? If he had somehow involved them too, what influence could he possibly wield on them? What could he have offered them in return?
30
Mother
Anees heard the man out. His eyes were focused as the man described the information that he felt was worth something in a mixture of Hindi & Marathi. Anees listened intently. Though it was well past 12, Anees was alert. He sat in his office at the Wheely on the same table where he had heard Achhu many a times. The man talking to him now was a rag picker. It was his job to pick through waste bins for sifting usable items. He was dressed in a tattered half sleeved shirt with large checkers of blue and black. His stained blue jeans had been folded up above his knees. The folding was a job requirement to avoid staining the jeans even more but it was also old attire associated with his job. The world may have moved on economically but for people like him, it was always important to mark their social standing even when they were not at work. He had a gaunt face with a sparse beard. His dark skin reflected strangely in the light of Anees’s office. The eyes were too small & the teeth were too few. But he was not drunk and seemed sound of mind. He made eye contact with Anees only occasionally as he spoke to Anees & kept his eyes to the floor at most times.
“He is one of my regular scrap dealers. Usually for the electrical waste. Does not pay well but takes almost anything that I find. Wires, insulation, boards anything.” He was describing a scrap dealer form Dharavi.
“Yesterday when I went to his shop in the evening, he was talking to someone on the phone. As I sorted the items that I had got for him, I heard him mention a 10000V capacitor that was ready.” He stopped. But Anees didn’t ask him any question. Anees wanted to let the other man explain himself fully before questioning his information.
“He deals in large capacitors regularly & is a supplier of electronic butchery equipment. But after mentioning the capacitor to be ready, he mentioned that the capacitor had the capacity to blow the milk van with the cows.” The capacitor that could blow a milk van? This was a new one. But the man was saying this with conviction. There was something that he had seen or heard that had tickled his reflexes. Even ordinary men have a strange, indescribable sense of danger that is right most of the times. Could this be a right hunch?
“That was all I could hear. He saw me soon after & drove me out without buying any stuff from me. He was angry.” The man finished. Dhanaji almost ran into the picker after he finished his sentence.
“You wanted to tell this? At 12 in the night? Are you drunk?” Dhanaji would have hit the man had Anees not raised his eyebrows at him. He retreated in fury.
Anees could not decide whether the picker was picking on the scrap dealer for not buying his stuff or this was a clue. He asked the picker once more if it was all he heard. The picker said he had told them everything that he knew. He apologized many times with folded hands. He had come to know today from one of Anees’s employees that Anees was looking for any information off the street. He wanted to share what he had heard. Anees was his maai-baap, he said again and again. Anees asked him to leave. He went away as quickly as he could.
“I am sorry Bhai. But he would not tell it to anyone but you.” The rag-picker had met Dhanaji at the Wheely. He would have told it to anyone but Dhanaji, Anees thought. Dhanaji had then thought of it as a good opportunity to take the man to Anees and claim the glory that would have followed if the information was good. He had called Anees immediately for arranging the meet. Obviously, the man had let him down, in front of Anees. And as usual, Dhanaji had given up on the man instantaneously. That was the problem with Dhanaji. He was ambitious, always looking for chances to score it big. But he was hasty when it came to dogged pursuit of a goal.
“Never mind Dhanaji. What is the name of this scrap dealer?” Anees asked.
A few minutes later Anees was still making up his
mind. He had not found any lead about what Ishtiyaq was going to do in Mumbai even after rousing his networks in Dharavi & abroad. In 1993, he had first hand information & things had worked as per it. The government was expecting the same from him. He didn’t fear any repercussions from the government yet but that could change anytime. He had built everything as per the law since his arrangement after the blasts. But when someone whom he had known was likely to do something so nasty, he too would not remain outside the heat that followed. Also, he needed the government’s help for nailing Achhu’s killer. A lead now would make the government honor his request for some more time. He set his inquiry about the scrap dealer in motion with a few phone calls.
The results of enquiries that he had made about the scrap dealer could not be ditched right away. His enquiries about a 10000Volt capacitor got similar responses. His best electrician had never heard of such a capacitor being put in vehicles in his professional experience. Anees could not ask him about the possibility of the capacitor being used for killing, but the man himself had commented that it would be best for everyone apart from the skilled installer to stay away from the capacitor.
Anees believed in presenting watertight & usable information as a habit. But when it came to terrorism, he had also learnt that time was of essence every time. It was better to take a reputational hit for a false alert rather than lose lives. He made the call. Hormaz answered.
“Mr.Hormaz, I think you should know this.” He spoke to Hormaz for fifteen more minutes. He told him about the capacitor, about a milk van & the cows inside which could be blown & about a scrap dealer in Dharavi who could have been a classmate of Ishtiyaq when he studied in Mumbai for a year. After finishing the call, he rang the bell on his desk. Sunil looked out of the door of the office.
“Yes Bhai?” He asked.
“I want you to watch this man. I want to know his routine. Everything that he does, everywhere he goes. You will call me every time he moves.” Anees gave him the scrap dealer’s name & address.
“Ji Bhai.” Sunil was on it.
***
We reached Ratnapur by 1 a.m. It is right on the Beed-Aurangabad highway so there were no diversions to be taken. The drive from the highway to the police station is a taste of the rural way of life. The smallish road through the town is a concrete one. Surrounded by small houses on both sides, it is lit in dim orange light. The margin of the road on both sides has small “Naali” or gutters for drainage. Though covered in most places, the occasional black stretches between houses or vacant areas reveal them. They also go under the road at junctions. These are the tricky ones to cross. But Shinde drives expertly over such joints in the road.
And there are the handmade beds in front of the houses. They are called “Khaat” around here if I remember correctly. Though it is early winter, people sleep outside the houses on the Khaats. They say it is hard not to find the Khaat when you are on the ghat. Ghats are the plateau region of Maharashtra. There are many reasons for sleeping outside. Habits, large family, relatives at home or even for keeping a watch on thieves who prowl at nights. Take your pick. But they are tactically aligned. A “Bail gaadi” meaning a bullock kart or even a tractor can be maneuvered easily through the Khaats occupying the road. There are occasional cows, oxen and even goats tied near houses. But they don’t bother to give us a second glance. Our Sumo has no problem whatsoever finding a path to the station.
It is a small building which looks more like a house. Shinde parks near another police vehicle in the building’s yard. I accompany him inside. There are three rooms. One looks like a detention cell because of a strong looking door & a barred window. The second one is the biggest of the three. It is a large hall with two tables occupied by two havaldars. The third room is a small office presumably for the station in charge. I see an elderly woman seated on a bench next to one of the tables. Probably here to lodge a complaint. The rooms are lit with white LEDs by wires that are hanging from the ceiling. The old tube-lights sit unused in their fittings fastened to the wall. Shinde guides me to the office as the two havaldars throw crisp salutes at me. They look informed of my visit.
Inside the office, there is a sub-Inspector on duty. The name plate reads “Sub Inspector Ratnapurkar”. It is common in Maharashtra to have surnames after a place. He too snaps to attention as I enter. He is a young man, probably in his late twenties. He is dressed sharply, his hair seems impeccable & the moustache is modeled after Ajay Devgn’s Singham.
“Good Morning Sir. How was the journey?” He asks as I take a seat opposite him. Shinde remains standing as he is not offered one. He throws a salute at the younger man & walks out.
“It was good.” I take a better look at the office. It has two windows, a well placed ceiling fan & two tall cupboards.
“Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, softdrink..” He lets the pause hang after the soft drink for good. I don’t take the bait for harder stuff though.
“Tea would be nice.”
Ratnapurkar sends one of his havaldars for tea. As I don’t start off a conversation, he reaches the cupboard to get a file.
“This is the file that we have on Mushtaq & his cousin. Threatening, stealing, browls. They have a history with these. We round them off at least once a year.” He provides background. I open the file to see a boyish face. The photos show him as a thin, gaunt boy with a hint of moustache. The face appears confused & restless. There are finger prints too. His cousin is slightly taller. His eyes show anger in the mug shots. He has a full beard with no moustache.
“So can we meet them? Have you sent for them?” I ask.
“Sent for them? I would drag those rascals here right away but it seems they are missing since yesterday.” Ratnapurkar is clearly sorry to have missed the dragging.
“Missing?”
“Yes. Mushtaq’s mother came to file a report 3 hours ago. By then we knew you were on your way. So we kept her waiting.” He points outside with a tone of efficiency. The woman on the bench is Mushtaq’s mother. I don’t know what to say. Ratnapurkar has kept a desolate mother waiting into the night so that I can question her.
“She has been waiting for 3 hours?” I ask it like a question.
“I thought.. I will bring her in right away.” The cold in my voice creeps up Ratnapurkar’s spine. He goes to fetch her right away.
“Ratnapurkar?” I call him. He rushes back.
“Get me the owner of the house where the other man was put up.” He nods & leaves.
Mushtaq’s mother is an old woman of around 60. She is dressed in a saree and seems to have shrunk a bit since I saw her. But there is resilience (or is it resignation) in her movements. She takes each step with a visible purpose. Her head is straight, her spine even stiffer. Her gait makes her cheek bones stand out clearly. She is a frail woman by stature and her body is tense like a coiled spring. As she comes inside the office, I can make out redness left by a paan at the corner of her lips. Her face is expressionless as she gives me a measuring look. She is accompanied by Shinde. It seems that Ratnapurkar did find the time to update his friend about my mood swing at him.
“Ye Mumbai ke saheb hai.” He tells the woman that I am a big shot from Mumbai. He does not use Marathi to talk to her as if she is not from around here.
“Salaam Saheb.” She greets me mechanically. I gesture her to seat in the chair opposite me. She gives a sideways glance to Shinde & keeps standing. I don’t force her.
“My son is missing Saheb. He has not returned home since yesterday. His cousin is missing too.” She complains.
“When was the last time you saw them?” I ask.
“Yesterday morning. They were supposed to start for Mumbai today but they never returned.” She replies.
“Was somebody else going with them?”
“Yes. Kadarbhai. The man who was going to get them jobs in the Gulf. But I can’t find him too.” Now her tone sounds a bit worried.
“I have reason to believe that Mushtaq, Ijaz & this Kadarbhai could hav
e been involved in planning or executing a big crime. Would you know of that?” It takes a lot of courage for me to ask this.
“What kind of crime?” She asks in a voice that is back to being hard.
“Murder.” I answer after a pause. She shakes her neck sideways very slowly. Her lips part in a smile that looks a like a smirk out of helplessness. I look on in surprise.
“That is a new one.” She starts laughing. She keeps laughing even as tears roll down her cheeks. Shinde takes a step in her direction but meets my eyes. He freezes. The police station reverberates in the brittle & tragic, yet distinct peals of a mother’s laughter.
31
The Garage
It was 1 in the night but sleep was not close. Hormaz had been attending half hourly briefs from every major agency working on the problem at hand. All the intelligence machinery had been unsuccessful so far. During the last briefing, he had received a call from Anees. He had taken down notes as usual. But what happened after that had not been usual. He was with the ATS chief & was attending the video call with the Maharashtra IG. He had thought it pertinent to share the information provided by Anees with them immediately.
To say that it had been received indifferently would be an understatement. The ATS chief had bluntly said that they could not trust Anees or his intelligence anymore. The IG had echoed the same sentiment but the garb had been a reference to Anees being an excellent source 20 years back but not now. Both men had refused to spare their already taxed men for investigating the possible killing of cows in a van. The ATS chief had gone on to say that with a likely attempt on of human lives, a few cows could wait. The Maharshtra IG had an alternate route of action after a phone call had interrupted their discussion. A travel agent near the Pune bus stand had identified Ishtiyaq. Ishtiyaq had boarded a bus to Mumbai in the morning with two boys. What was surprising that Ishtiyaq & the two boys had vanished when the bus had stopped for refreshments. It was clear that Ishtiyaq was moving towards Mumbai. So why waste effort in tracking an old friend talking about cows when the real person of interest was around? Also, there was no input whatsoever about deals of explosives in the underworld. So there was a chance to apprehend Ishtiyaq before he caused any damage. Sometime during this discussion Kumar arrived in the room & occupied a chair.
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